


The Man the World Wanted Dead

by Grim Reaper Cultist (DeletedBecauseShy)



Series: DBS’s Grim Poetry Series (Kuroshitsuji) [5]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Death, Drabble, Gen, M/M, Pre-Canon, Shinigami, Suicide, poemfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:20:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23505283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeletedBecauseShy/pseuds/Grim%20Reaper%20Cultist
Summary: ———He remembered vividly the joy of childhood followed by the stress of schoolwork. The throbbing of love and the shatter of heartbreak.Confined within his small bed, the man was left with naught but to slowly slip away. He could feel his life drain away each time he awoke from slumber. How he yearned to end it all.———
Relationships: (IMPLIED), Alan Humphries/Eric Slingby
Series: DBS’s Grim Poetry Series (Kuroshitsuji) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1683742
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	The Man the World Wanted Dead

As he awoke once more, the sickly man thought about his short-lived time within this realm. 

He remembered vividly the joy of childhood followed by the stress of schoolwork. The throbbing of love and the shatter of heartbreak.

Confined within his small bed, the man was left with naught but to slowly slip away. He could feel his life drain away each time he awoke from slumber. How he yearned to end it all. 

The days became indistinguishable, his life separated into conscious and unconscious. He slept to stop it all. 

To stop the pain,

To stop the thoughts,

To stop the unstoppable. 

He felt as his muscles atrophied into mere red ribbons. Unable to support his own weight for more than a minute. 

He relied on others. He knew neither party enjoyed the act of doctor and patient that had been set up. Wished to cease the suffering of those forced to care for him.

When they brought him the pills, he spat them back up. Emptied his stomach when fed, refused to drink. 

If they wouldn't end him, he would do it to himself. 

He noticed when he would wake to a weird taste. The familiar bitter powder. That day, he ate. He ate until his stomach rejected its contents. 

They were wrong to assume he wanted to continue as he was. Wrong to make the choice that was rightfully his. 

From that day on he never awoke to the bitter, dry taste of medicine coating his throat. 

He lasted only days, his body giving out from lack of vital medication. His mind slipped into the void, he found solace in the peaceful silence. 

The voice was polite when it first approached him. Asked for his hand and offered an escape to the empty fields of his mind. 

He politely declined the offer. Content to rest eternally in the delicate expanse of void. 

The voice returned, its kind facade replaced with one filled with forceful demanding. 

He would follow,

He would leave the empty plains,

He would obey,

When the voice once again offered its hand, it did not come as a recommendation. It was an order.

It tightened its grasp, dragging him through the infinite expanse of emptiness. They moved together through the piercing silence, a lack of footsteps, of breathing, of heartbeats.

The sudden arrival of sound caused him to flinch violently. The sound of cloth moving rang like bells through in his mind. The voices too loud to be understood.

The shock lingered for multiple what felt like an eternity, his mind unaccustomed to sound after his time within the void. 

The new voice slowly became intelligible, it spoke his name roughly. A strong, masculine, foreign accent prevailing past the veil that covered his body.

It spoke to him fondly despite its harsh accent. Asked him to open his eyes slowly to not be alarmed by the lights. 

He opened his eyes slowly as instructed, the light’s potential effect on him impossible due to the warning. 

He couldn't differentiate the lines between objects, colors blended together like paint. 

The closest object, a man, moved towards him cautiously. He placed a calloused hand on his cheek to sturdy him as a pair of glasses landed lightly on his nose. 

The man spoke with the same accent. He told of his sins. However, he did not speak down upon the man. He spoke as an equal. 

His punishment for taking his own life would be to serve. Until the day he atoned for his actions and could pass on.

After a time he began to see it as not a punishment but a blessing. A chance at the life he had spent laying upon a bed in a lonely room.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, check out my other works in the series! And comment! I need positive feedback in my shitshow of a life.


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